Why I don't make New Year resolutions

And what I do instead

West coast wildness in my home town Tāmaki Makaurau/Auckland

It’s New Year’s Eve and I’m gazing out over the wild Tasman Sea from the black sands of Auckland’s rugged West Coast. It’s a place that gives me perspective – the dramatic cliff faces and turbulent ocean so vast that I’m reminded of the tiny speck I am amongst it all. The sky is moody and the pummeling rain thwarts the sunset picnic I had planned, reminding me once again of the need to surrender to forces bigger than myself.

I’m taking some moments to reflect on the year gone by and the year ahead.

I feel the pressure and expectation to review who and where I am in life, where I want to be, and the vision of a newer shinier version of myself in the year that lies ahead.  It’s that time when we all take stock, reboot, and become better versions of ourselves, right?

Well, actually, no.

When I casually flick back to old journals and reflections written as previous years dawned, what I notice is this - some details have changed, but by and large, I’m often writing about similar themes. There’s the familiar old me, with her familiar old struggles, woven in amongst the words.

As much as we love the tradition of making New Year’s resolutions, you may have noticed that they don’t often work. We don’t actually reconstruct ourselves and our lives with each new year.

Research has found that more than 80% of New Year resolutions fail. In fact, it goes on to show that a quarter of people quit their resolution by the end of the first week.¹

Depending on your perspective, that statistic might be funny, depressing or reassuring. But how do we make sense of it? Are we all just lazy, hopeless, lost causes? I don’t think so.

We’re not lazy – we’re just fundamentally misunderstanding our internal world and the process through which we make change.

Let’s face it, if change was as simple as deciding to do something new, we would probably have done it yesterday. Or 10 years ago.

We are failing to understand that the behaviour we want to change is there for a reason. It is held in place because at some point in our history it served a useful function for us. Giving it up may evoke fear, loss or panic, particularly if we don’t yet have an alternative skill or habit to fill that same need. An example would be if we’re over-eating, drinking, shopping, scrolling, etc as a way to avoid painful or challenging feelings like grief, loneliness, anger, or shame. Until we have a viable alternative way to process and metabolise those feelings, some part of our psyche is going to cling to the behaviour that has historically helped us avoid them, even if it only works as a short-term strategy. If it’s the best we have in our arsenal, we’re not going to give it up easily.

We’re made up of a myriad of different parts, and while one part is committed to the new goal or the changed behaviour, another will likely be pulling in a different direction to keep the old pattern in place. This does not mean we’re crazy or self-sabotaging, it simply means we’re human, and humans are complex and multi-faceted. For change to be effective, we need all parts of the system on board.

This is where therapy can be gold. In the therapy room we often begin by unpacking the layers that are holding an old behaviour or pattern in place, to help to understand where it came from and why it took up residence in the first place. What it helped us cope with once upon a time. Often, we can trace its origins back to childhood, a time when our range of choices and coping strategies were much more limited. As we untangle the different layers, we can start to loosen the white-knuckle grip on that old behaviour. Instead of judging it and trying to wrestle it into submission, we start from a place of sitting down alongside it and understanding what valuable piece of information it is holding. We assume that on some level it makes sense. From there, we can begin to update the internal software and add some new skills to the toolbox so that eventually the old behaviour pattern is no longer needed in the same way.

When we try to make change without getting all the relevant parts of our system on board, we will often be met with internal resistance and a rebound effect that can pull the old behaviour back even more strongly. When we try to make change without understanding the complex layers that make us human, we are often left feeling like failures.

The paradox of change is that it tends to begin with acceptance, understanding and self-compassion.

As Richard Schwartz, the founder of a model of therapy called Internal Family Systems (IFS), highlights – there are no bad parts. All of our internal parts are working for us on some level and once we understand this, we can really start to work with, rather than against, the parts of ourselves that we may wish to change.

As for me personally, I let go of making New Year resolutions many years ago. I found they were like a subtle act of violence and chastisement - telling myself I’m not good enough and need to do better, without putting the structures in place that really support lasting change.

In their place, I’ve cultivated some different rituals over the years. I find rituals support us to embody and move through significant transition points. Some of my New Year rituals include watching the sunset on New Year’s Eve as I say goodbye to the old year and reflect on what’s gone - the highs, the lows, the challenges, the gratitude. Then I like to plunge into the ocean on New Year’s Day to symbolically cleanse away the old and invite in the fresh and the new. Ideally as the sun rises, but often later after a long lie-in.

As I look to the year ahead, I’m reminded that our ability to plan, control, manage and strategise our lives is limited. Life has a habit of pulling us in unexpected directions and throwing curveballs in our path. If we plan too tightly then these curveballs can completely derail us and prevent us from seeing the opportunities life presents. I prefer to allow the new year to gradually unfold and reveal itself to me in a more organic way. Instead of mapping out my year or making resolutions, I invite in a few simple intentions, a flavour or an essence of how I’d like to orientate to the year.

I spend a little time writing or meditating on those intentions, focusing on embodying the felt sense of those qualities, and noticing how my body lights up when I feel or imagine them. This way the intention moves from an abstract thought in the cognitive and intellectual realm, towards being a lived experience that my body can remember and encode. The seed of a new pattern.

My intentions for 2024 are to nurture the qualities of creativity, connection and rest.

The precise details of how and where and when that shows up, I’m leaving open to the great mystery of life. I may return to those words when I need to reset my compass, but leaving it open-ended means essentially there is no way to fail at this task.

Image: Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Tell me, what are your rituals for marking the turning of the year? And what is your relationship to New Year’s Resolutions? Have you set any goals or intentions for 2024? And if so, how are they going so far? Join me in the comments (if you’re reading this in an email, click through to the website to join the conversation).

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Some other pieces I’ve enjoyed on this subject recently:

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Rachel Katz

Don’t Make NY Resolutions By

Alana Kirk

Goodbye 2023, Hello 2024 By

Vas Priebe

1. Norcross, J.C. & Vangarelli, D.J. (1988) The resolution solution: longitudinal examination of New Year’s change attempts. Journal of Substance Abuse, 1(2), 127-134